He deals a single card to each player to determine who has first betting rights and when I’m dealt a king, I know I’m off to a good start.
It doesn’t take me long before I win, knowing that the likelihood of the dealer getting the ace he’d need was nearly impossible.
And then I win again. And again.
The dealer goes from smiling to suspicious over the course of four hands, which is my cue to stop.
Collecting up my winnings, I pick a new table.
I’ll do one more table, cash in my chips, and move on to another casino.
I pick my mark, watching several hands before I take a seat.
I blow out a breath, the dealer is giving me a weird look. Should I have already left the Palace after one table? Looking around, I swear one of the security guards is eyeing me.
I feel my anxiety rising, a problem I’ve struggled with my entire life. Rolling my shoulders, I clasp my hands under the table and then I start tapping my fingers into my palm, and then against my legs.
It’s an exercise one of the nannies taught me to control my fear and calm my nerves, but it’s not working here.
What’s more, I watch one of the guards speak into walkie talkie as he looks at me, his gaze taking in my fingers tapping on my legs.
I blink my eyes, and clench my hands into fists, losing focus on the hand and the cards at play.
Still, somehow, I win the hand and then another. I know I need to leave soon, but I’ve just gotten a handle on this deck and for the work I’ve put in, I’d like a few more winning hands.
But that was a mistake. I win one more, determined to make the next hand my last at this table, and this casino, when I get a tap on the shoulder.
This is completely different than the tapping I’m unconsciously doing on my knee.
I turn to see a very stern-looking security guard glaring down at me. “Come with me, miss.”
My mouth opens and then closes as I do a quick calculation of the chips in front of me. I’ve barely been here an hour, and I’ve already made over fifty grand.
It’s a lot, but is it really enough to get me in trouble? I start to gather up my chips, but the guard’s hand comes to my shoulder. “Leave them,” he rumbles gruffly.
“But I won them,” I cry, ignoring the shifting of the other gamblers even as the dealer pulls out a fresh deck. “They’re mine.”
Another guard joins the first, his hand coming to my other shoulder. Cold fear trickles down my spine. “Bag them up,” he says to the dealer. “Mister Smith can decide if she gets to keep them or not.”
My muscles turn to jelly. “Mister Smith?”
“That’s right, girlie. Ryker Smith wants to see you.” And then he yanks me up by my upper arm.
My legs don’t work, and I start to go down before the other guard grabs my other side and the two of them start dragging me across the casino floor.
If my brain could function, I’d ask myself how I managed to be in one of my sister’s fiancé’s casinos.
Then again, I should have known. In Vegas, the Smiths are real-estate gods—and criminals besides.
They are above the law, which means that Ryker Smith can do with his thieving little sister-in-law whatever he wishes.
What will he choose? I’m about to find out.
CHAPTER TWO
Sasha
I’m pulledthrough a double set of doors, the two guards flanking me on either side. Both tower over me, both holding one of my arms.
